The Morose In The Psychologist
by KarrineGenesis
Summary: Mayhem On A Cross Full Warnings Inside: Slash, abuse, angst, sort of OC. Lance Sweets has 3 best friends. Miranda, Lexie, and Zack. His father kidnaps Miranda and Lance has to finish the case before he can ask for help. And being Cold Blood isn't exactly a good thing to be keeping a secret, either. So how is this supposed to work out? With help from Dr. Addy, and Hodgins ! Vincent


**Warnings: M/M, a small character turned big, abuse, OC cause, hey, we never got told the name or personality of Sweets' dad, mom, or adoptive parents, an actual OC, but, as I say later, she's more of a warning bell. M/F, angst, non con/rape, kidnapping.**

**~Alright, so how I did this was write it while watching the episode, adding in some dialogue, adding a kind of OC, not really, don't worry Miranda is just a warning bell about what's going on with Sweets. Then after I went back and changed tons of things massively! So, here you go. Then, of course, post episode is COMPLETELY my own. Except, you know, the characters and the setting and the previous story line. Too bad I don't own them. This would have been the episode.~**

**I've seen tons of Mayhem fics and after buying Season 4 I decided to write one. Different universe than my other Bones fic, and I'll be posting more chapters of JSSFTR and some one-shots from that universe. Not really post episode, it bleeds from the episode to post episode. Sweets centric, but it will contain many angst and fluff for other characters.**

**Intern of the week: Clark Edison. (Whole different kind of black.)**

**_DURING EPISODE_**

"Right, ok, so for the Norwegian crucifixion case, I'm gonna need to know all there is about the heavy-metal music scene in D.C., okay? And tell you what, get me all the recordings that you can." Booth said to a small agent person, getting cut off by Gordon-Gordon Wyatt.

"I think you're gonna have to be more specific than that, Agent Booth."

Booth greeted him and shook his hand.

"There's black metal, speed metal, grind core, thrash, doom, drone, glam, sludge, metal core, stoner metal, death metal, and death core." **(AN: Sorry. I listen to metal core, death metal, I think that's it I'll go look later and see if I do another chapter I'll tell ya or in another one shot.)**

Booth and the small man looked to each other, then to Gordon.

"Must you shake my hand with such a vice like grip?" Gordon asked.

***I don't know why I put that, I like that part, here's the actual Fanfiction***

"And on a happier note, I'm to meet your bright, young thing- Dr. Sweets?" **(I realize this is about half a minute after what I wrote before, doesn't really matter; it's about the main character in this fic, Sweets, so what the hell!)**

"Sweets? Why Sweets?"

"Well, he wants to interview me for the book he's writing on you and the lovely Dr. Brennan. Anyway, I can see you're- you're busy."

Gordon got up and proposed this: "Listen, perhaps while I'm here, I can barbecue for you one evening."

Booth shook his head.

"Oh, no, no. I am the barbecue master, remember? You can do the boiling." **(This isn't really a fanfiction yet, is it?)**

Gordon told Booth how his own cooking skills had improved, and they said their farewells.

*If I got rid of my demons, my angels would die as well.*

"Gordon. Gordon Wyatt. It's nice to meet you, Dr. Sweets." **(This isn't word for word anymore.)**

"Dr. Wyatt, I love your book on sexual sadism of female serial killers."

"Do I detect a certain caveat in your tone?"

Sweets hesitated. "Uh, well, th-the sample is small."

"Well, there are very few female serial killers."

Sweets swallowed his nervousness. "I was wondering if you'd take a look at-"

Gordon cut him off. "Your manuscript!" He said excitedly, starting to rummage through his bag.

"I have to say, this is quite possibly the best work I've ever read on the dynamics of opposite personality types working towards a common… cause."

Sweets eyes flicked to Gordon's face and his own started to fall a fraction of an inch once he started saying opposite personality types.

"Okay, now I'm hearing a caveat." Sweets said, somber.

"It's a small one. It's just that Brennan and Booth aren't in anyway opposites."

Sweets narrowed his eyes slightly but hid it behind a chuckle.

"Wow, small?! What- what is that, a British understatement?"

"Oh, yes, he's a man, she's a woman, he's instinctual, she's empirical-"

"Opposites." Sweets said, almost wanting to cry.

'I spent so long on this.' He swallowed back the need and listened to what the other said.

"Superficial ephemera, Dr. Sweets."

Sweets swallowed. "What about the sexual component in their relationship?" He really needed this to be right.

At least one thing. "Would you agree that they have both sublimated their attraction to each other out of fear of endangering their working relationship because their working relationship is paramount to both of them?"

"Alas-," Sweets felt a pang in his chest.

"- I'm afraid I wouldn't agree with that, no."

Sweets forced the tears down again.

'It's nothing to cry about.' He chided himself.

"Wow. Which part?"

"Well, everything you just said."

_'Everything that comes out of your mouth is wrong, hurtful, annoying, and just horrid in general. Why don't you just shut up? Forever.'_

Sweets pushed the memory away.

"Yes, one of them is acutely aware of that attraction, struggles with it daily, as a matter of fact."

Sweets looked down and tapped his foot on the ground quietly. "Wow…"

He gave a laugh. "I'm sorry I keep saying that. But which one?"

_'Do I ever get to be upset? Do I ever get to be anyone but me?'_

Sweets realized it quickly after the next wave of memories washed over him.

'A fit's starting.'

He had to get Gordon out. Soon.

_'Why don't you just imagine it never happened?'_

Sweets tried desperately to push them away.

"It's your book, Dr. Sweets. I would never tell you what to write." Gordon got up and Sweets followed suit.

"I was actually gonna ask you to write the introduction."

"That's very flattering. But I'm retiring. I'm relinquishing the field to young Turks like you."

_'It will probably always hurt to see you with someone else.'_

_'These battle scars don't look like their fading. Don't look like their ever going away.'_

Sweets gave a small smile to Gordon and he left.

Sweets sighed and sat down, putting in headphones to listen to dark music and lay down.

"Time to let this episode go away."

_'You're just a kid. The worst thing that happened to you is probably losing at Modern Warfare.'_

Somehow the newer memories hurt more than the older ones.

*What you do says more words than your mouth ever can.*

"Wait a second, what do you mean Gordon-Gordon is gonna quit psychiatry?" Booth asked Sweets.

They were having food and coffee at the Royal Diner, and Brennan was with them.

Sweets had finally gotten off his episode, and only one memory still was lodged into his brain.

_'You don't know me at all, and you never will.'_

He had said this to so many people, it wasn't actually one memory.

He said it to his parents, the Sweets; he said it to his other foster parents after he had turned 8, being abused by his bio dad and being left with him by his mother.

He said it to people who tried to befriend him, to people he was breaking up with.

He hoped he never had to say it to anyone on this team.

"Well, I asked him to write the intro to the book I'm writing about you 2 and he told me he couldn't because he's retiring."

"Is it possible he just hated your book?" Brennan asked.

_'Is it possible she just hated you enough and she really knew about your father?'_

Sweets breathing hitched.

"What's wrong?" Booth asked, concerned.

Sweets shook his head.

"The sentence reminded me of something…. Something someone told me… a long time ago… look, that doesn't matter."

Sweets gave Brennan a look and said sarcastically, "Thanks anyway."

"Perhaps now he'll find a pursuit worthy of his intellect. Neurochemistry for example." Booth's phone rang and he picked it up.

"Yeah, Booth. Hold on. Slow down."

"Ok, why would a man with Wyatt's insights into the human psyche want to be a mere scientist? No offense."

"Perhaps because psychology is a field which is ill-defined in conception and ineffective in execution."

"No, you see, people are put into therapy because they have problems and 80% of the time comes out with none or satiable problems. You're ideology on psychology is because either you had problems in it if you were put in before or because you are afraid of human emotions." Sweets took a bite of his food.

This was the first time he didn't just say Thank You sarcastically.

_'And then you were kidnapped at 10. What happened, Lance?'_

If he had to say, he would probably hate psychology to because of the problems he still had after all the time in offices where all they did was talk and prescribe pills that would have damaged him further if he had took them.

He didn't.

"Sweets, you're arguing back." Brennan said, astonished.

"Yes, I am, because this is how I help people. You look at their deceased loved ones and catch the killer, and I help them find ways to face living without them in their lives."

Sweets was about to talk more when a red headed, hazel eyed woman came up.

"Lance, I am so glad I found you."

He looked to her, eyes wide.

"Miranda, call me later, I'm being a Psychologist for the FBI right now!"

"This will only take a moment-!"

Booth turned and told Brennan about the death metal band Spew, and both Sweets and Miranda turned.

"Wait one moment." Sweets said, and turned back to Miranda.

"You really have to go, call me later."

She shook her head and protested, "I can help with this case! I know all about Spew! It's a death-metal band with the bassist and vocalist, before they got the new one, was Mayhem, or Justin Dancy. Grinder or Daryl Moss is the new-"

"Miranda, go, I'll see you tonight!" Sweets yelled, causing everyone to hush.

Miranda sighed.

"Jeeze Lance. I only wanted to help. Anyways, I'll be seeing you at 10:30 tonight. Got it? 10:30. No later, on time please."

Lance nodded. "I know, Miranda. I know." Lance waved her off, and the red head ran out to her car.

"Why did you do that, her information could help with the case!" Booth said.

"No, Miranda was just showing off. You can figure all that out with the internet."

"Wait, she said death metal. The skeleton was in the possession of a black metal band." Brennan noted.

"Death metal, black metal, what's the difference?"

"In essence, death metal is about brutal technical proficiency while black metal is about emotion. Now, both of them exploit adolescent feelings of alienation, depression-." Sweets explained, getting cut off by Booth.

"Right, cause it all just sounds like a truck full of cymbals crashing into a saw factory for me."

Lance suppressed a growl.

"Well-." He tried, and was again cut off, this time by Brennan.

"But historically, picayune internecine squabbles account for a huge number of deaths."

Booth finally couldn't take this anymore. "Bones, just figure out cause of death for me, all right? 'Interocerine' or whatever. How do you know so much about this?"

He directed the last sentence to Sweets.

"I was really into Death Metal. As a teenager, not anymore." He added the last part quickly. "Obviously."

"Really?" Booth asked.

"Oh come on." Sweets said.

"Come on what?" Booth asked.

Sweets imitated a metal growl. "I don't like that anymore."

Sweets took a sip of his coffee.

*It's tiring to pretend all the time.*

"According to Booth, the only way to track down Spew is to talk to a red head named Miranda who was talking to Sweets at lunch today before he shooed her off. No bars, clubs, or high schools." Brennan stated.

Hodgins brought up a picture of a cross. "The cross is carved of 120-year-old black oak, and was stolen from St. Benedict Episcopal Church six months ago. Who's Miranda?"

"That is some determined desecration going on. And I'd like to know that to. Who is this Miranda?"

"She came up to us while we were eating lunch and Sweets got mad at her. He shooed her away and said they'd meet at 10:30 tonight."

Hodgins nodded. "Ok, the bones themselves were covered in a patina of smoke, tobacco, marijuana, meth, animal blood, semen, and saliva."

"Who are these people?" **(OMG I THOUGHT BRENNAN WAS SO KAWAII/CUTE WHEN SHE SAID THAT! LIKE A LITTLE KID!)**

"Hey, speaking of Sweets, he sent over a briefing." Cam gave Brennan a folder.

"Concerts are set up at secret locations, and only insiders are invited." Hodgins stated.

"Then how do we find them?" Brenna said absentmindedly, flipping through the briefing in her hands.

"Aha! Well, the dried mud from the treads of the boots that were duct taped to the victim contained bovine fragments and infectious prion proteins." Hodgins said, looking up at Brennan.

"A slaughterhouse." She said.

"A slaughterhouse closed down due to mad cow disease." He said, proud.

"Death metal enthusiasts prefer morbid, horror centric venues for performances. In addition, they tend to perform for their fans in the same place they practice and sometimes squat. Hey, why do you think Miranda wants to see Sweets tonight?"

"We can't speculate why." Brennan said.

"Like maybe this horror centric condemned slaughterhouse. Come one, she didn't give any clues?"

"Wait, how do we know that those are his boots? He was in Norway for months. And no, she was quite thorough in keeping whatever it was a secret."

"You are gonna be so proud~!" Cam said in a sing-song voice, leading Brennan away. Hodgins chuckled and went back to work.

*There's a (laugh) fking tomahawk. Ok! You might feel a slight headache, Bob~!* **(Sorry, I was watching PewDiePie…)**

"The victim's foot size is 11, same as his boots." Clark stated.

"We need something more than a matching shoe size." Brennan chided.

"He's not finished." Cam said.

"Wear on his calcaneus and cuboid suggests our victim walked on the outside of his feet."

"Supinator." Cam added.

"One percent of the population are supinators. That's a lot." Brennan said.

"One percent of size- 11 teenagers isn't good enough?" Cam cocked an eyebrow.

Brennan cleared her throat.

"This missing toe, did it fall off after decomposition or was it a preexisting condition?" She asked.

"That's exactly what I was thinking." Clark said.

He went to the monitor and brought up a picture. "You see here? His toes left an impression inside the boot. BUT, there is no impression corresponding with the big toe."

"Are you satisfied that this was the boot worn by the victim while he was still alive?" Cam asked.

"It's a reasonable conclusion."

"You want to say "king of lab"?"

**(I'm sorry, I have to change something else, this is a FANFICTION after all! And I like Clark, he should have his moment of glory.)**

Clark smiled.

"King of the lab!"

*Once you've met someone, you never really forget them.*

"So why do I have the feeling that I'm being taken somewhere terrible for a gangland whacking?" Gordon asked, sitting in the back of Booth's SUV.

"We are going somewhere terrible." Brennan stated. Booth gave her a look.

"We are!"

"Look, we- we need your expertise." Booth stuttered.

"I'm sure the estimable Dr. Sweets is more than qualified." Gordon said.

"We probably shouldn't bother Sweets, he seems to be busy. And Booth is lying about needing you." Brennan blurted out.

"What?"

"He wants to talk you out of quitting psychiatry." Brennan finished.

"Bones, I was easing into that, okay?" Booth looked back to the road.

"Matter of fact, I might be able to help you. When I was a young man, I dabbled quite extensively in the rock-music scene."

"Woah, wait a second. What were you, on lead dulcimer in a flute band?" Booth asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, I was the founder member of a proto-glam rock outfit."

"I don't know what that means." Brennan said. **(OMG SHE IS THE KAWAIIST/CUTEST OF THEM ALL XD EXCEPT HODGINS, ZACK, VINCENT, AND SWEETS! SHE'S THE KAWAIIST/CUTEST GIRL!)**

"It means that for 3 glorious years, I wore spandex, silver lame, pancake makeup, and played a guitar shaped like a spaceship. I was quite pretty in my way."

"Wait, you- you were Noddy Comet!" Booth exclaimed.

"What's that?" Brennan asked, confused by all of this.

"Noddy Comet, I always wondered what happened to you! You were Noddy!"**(Does anyone else think it sounded like he said Naughty?)**

Brennan and Booth laughed.

"I changed jobs, that's all."

"Noddy Comet! I gotta get some of those original tapes."

*I was in darkness so darkness I became.*

"Actually, you know, that fellow playing the bass is really rather good!" Gordon tried to get heard over the loud music.

"What?" Brennan shouted.

"Okay, let's shut it down, guys!" Booth called.

"Come one, FBI, let's go! Hey!" The band didn't hear him.

"I said FBI, shut it down!" He held his badge up to one of the band members and the member hissed and spit on the badge.

Booth took his gun out and emptied a whole clip into the stereo.

"Oh!" Brennan exclaimed.

"Yes. Now, if you recall, it was shooting inanimate objects that had you brought to me for therapy in the first place." Gordon chided.

"I thought it was a justifiable shooting."

"I agree!" Brennan said.

"She agrees, see?" Booth looked to Gordon.

One of the members pushed over a cymbal, getting the groups attention.

"You gonna put your gun down?" He asked.

"Don't rush me, okay?" Booth wiped his badge on the guy's pants.

"I'm thinking."

*She is so lost in her sadness she has no idea how visible it is.*

"Booth wants us to do the interrogation." Brennan told Sweets as she talked to Booth on her phone.

"Yeah, he's not supposed to be watching on a laptop and talking in your ear."

Sweets gave her a look.

"You just tell him that's not happening." Booth said in her ear.

"Their real names are Monty Bigelow, Matt Stickney, and Darryl Moss. I got them from Miranda." Sweets said, going into the interrogation room.

Brennan put the earplug in her ear.

"All right, Bones. So just ease into this."

Brennan pushed papers to them.

"What was Mayhem's real name?"

"Or you can just go at em like a freight train."

"Dabbler."

Sweets looked up, surprised. Maybe they meant something else, not what he thought.

"His stage name was Mayhem, not Dabbler."

"Mayhem's a dabbler."

Sweets nodded.

"Oh, so he was a poser, a douche." Sweets stated.

"Do you want to spend time in jail, pinhead?" Sweets looked over at Brennan with a weird look.

'What? What is she up to?'

_'You wouldn't understand, so what's the use?'_

He shoved the new memory back.

"You can't actually arrest people, Bones." Booth said, sighing. 'She doesn't know how to interrogate.'

He thought.

"We live in a slaughterhouse. You got something worse than that?"

Sweets shivered, no one but Brennan noticing, who disregarded it, and Booth, who made a mental note to ask him later… until he realized he couldn't if he didn't want to get in trouble.

'It's sleeping with roaches, and staying away from mold, and getting infected cuts from the dirt and rock on the ground, and being almost unable to breath because of a dog color wrapped tightly around your throat. That's worse.' Sweets thought.

"All right, let's start over. Tell us the name that Mayhem's mother and father gave him, and we'll charge you with assaulting a federal agent."

He was mad at their previous statement, but he kept that hidden.

"Oh, no, you have that backwards." Brennan whispered to him.

"No, Bones, he's right, okay? They WANT to be arrested."

"Oh, reverse psychology." Brennan said.

"That term is almost always misused." Sweets said soberly, looking to the band members.

"Look, just tell tapeworm that felony assault is the best you can do." Booth said into Brennan's ear.

"Felony assault is the best we can do, tapeworm." **(OMG KAWAII!)**

"Take it or leave it."

Sweets really wanted them to take it.

He was surprised they forgot what Miranda said was his name, but then again, THEY didn't have photographic memories.

The leader made a motion for someone to answer.

"Justin. Justin Dancy."

"When did you last see Justin?" Sweets asked, cooling down. He needed a lucid, level head.

"When I killed him, ate his heart, and took his job." Sweets gave a quiet snort that, thankfully, went unnoticed.

"I killed him too." One of the other band members said.

'These guys really want to go to jail, don't they?' Sweets thought.

"I never even noticed he was gone." The last one added.

"I ate his face off before I killed him." The first one said.

Sweets sighed.

'Who are these people?' Brennan thought again.

"I am so much better at interrogation than I thought." Brennan told Sweets.

He shook his head. "Those aren't legitimate confessions." He said quietly to Brennan.

To the 3 band members, he said, "All right guys. Come on. Give us a real answer."

The middle one smiled and gave a small laugh. "About a year ago, when he quit the band."

Sweets felt another wave of memories coming on.

'Not already, not now.'

But he shoved them back before they could surface.

"How about those charges?" The, probably leader, continued.

Sweets watched the new member, Grinder, and stood, leaving.

"Oh, where's he going?" Then he realized where and quickly put his computer away.

Awkwardly holding a book over his head and thinking, 'Damn it, I don't need to get caught!' Sweets walked in.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, what?" He asked in a strained voice.

"The one called Grinder is different from the others."

'It gave me a perfect excuse to get out of there.' Sweets relished in the thought.

"His body language displays an emotional connection to the murder victim." He continued excitedly.

"Okay. So what do you think we should do?"

"We should arrange to have him cleaned up, revealed so to speak, so that Dr. Wyatt and I can talk to him and exploit that connection."

"Okay, great. You do that, I'll stay here on desk duty."

"Yeah, okay." Sweets started out when he got a phone call.

He picked up the phone and left.

"Hello?"

"Lance, you have to help me!" Panic jolted in his stomach when he heard the panicked voice of Miranda.

"Why, what's wrong?" He asked in a vital tone, urging her to go on.

She gave a scream and the phone was placed onto another person's ear.

Shivers ran down Sweets' spine as he remembered who this was.

"Logan, are you there?" His 'father' asked him.

Sweets ground his jaw.

"Let go of Miranda, Peter."

His father growled. "Is that any way to treat your father? If you're rude, I might just have to punish you through this little red head."

Another wave of panic washed over him.

"No!" He cried, walking into his office.

"You can save her. You should wait, however. The case, you know. It would be RUDE if you asked for their help during the case." Sweets took a gulp and said, "Don't touch her! Once this case is done, you'll be so fking sorry! You'll wish you never went near her! Never went near me!"

"Oh, are you threatening me? I'll talk to you later. Promise."

The phone line went dead.

Lance took heaving breaths and laid down on the couch. He made a decision to cancel what he was supposed to be doing tonight.

'This day just keeps getting better and better.'

_'It was getting worse and worse and worse.'_

*And now that I've lost you, I've lost everything.*

"Posterior ilium, right side." Clark started.

"Damage to the cortical bone layer, extending into the trabecular." He looked up at Cam.

"This skeleton was carted from D.C. to Norway, than used as a prop at ultraviolent concerts. There's bound to be damage." She looked up at Clark, and he raised a finger.

"I enlarged the X-ray."

Cam didn't really want to be doing this. She'd noticed that something was wrong with Sweets.

But she promised herself she would ask after the case.

Even if she was really worried.

"See the multiple clefts and wastage?"

"Suggesting the damage done to the pelvic bone happened very near time of death?"

Cam mulled over this in her head.

'As long as you're not thinking of you-know-who.' She thought.

"Now, because Dr. Brennan isn't here, I'll guess that these gouge marks came from a knife."

Cam cocked an eyebrow. 'What is wrong with these people?'

"Someone went digging into the victim's gluteus?"

"Yes." Clark nodded. "Bone damage consistent with a bullet wound."

'They gouged the bullet out.'

"So, the victim was shot in the ass, then killed in some way yet to be determined, then the killer dug the bullet out of the victim's-." Cam summed up, Clark interrupting.

"Gluteus. Yes."

"Okay. Let's have Hodgins swab for trace evidence. God knows what he'll find. Maybe a little piece of Norway."

*Does it depress you? To know just how alone you really are?*

"Ah, Daryl Moss! Do come in, sit down!" Gordon greeted.

Sweets stayed soberly silent.

"My name's Grinder."

"Grinder? Have you looked in the mirror?" Sweets asked somberly.

Grinder looked behind him, sighing.

"Where are the other guys? Did you delouse them too?"

"No, nobody else. Just you, Darryl." Gordon said.

_'It all happens to just you. I hate that, you know? I don't want you hurt.'_

The memory of Miranda gave a sharp pang in the pit of his stomach, but this time he welcomed it, but didn't let an episode start.

'Not now.' He thought.

"You're the new guy in the band, right? You replaced Mayhem on bass?"

"I told you. I killed him for the job."

Sweets rolled his eyes.

"Mm-hmm, Dr. Wyatt tells me that you are a skilled, classically trained bassist influenced by, who is it?"

"Jaco Pastorius, but you do everything you can to hide that, don't you?"

"I never heard of him." Grinder said.

"No, no, cause that would ruin your street cred." Gordon continued.

"Justin Dancy's remains show evidence of being used as a stage prop for approximately the last 6 months, 4 of those in Norway."

"His name was Mayhem." Grinder glared at Sweets.

"He wasn't always Mayhem." Sweets ignored the glare.

"Just as you weren't always Grinder." Gordon continued for Sweets.

Gordon pushed a photograph towards Grinder.

"Look, there he is. That's Justin." He moved his finger to the other child in the picture.

"And that's you, Darryl."

Gordon smiled at Grinder- Darryl.

"Justin and Darryl. You see, what we want to do is find whoever it was that killed your boyhood friend."

Grinder sobered up extremely.

"What makes you think I even know?"

"Everyone knows everything in the metal world." Sweets said.

'Miranda would have probably known. She was at all the concerts, all the rehearsals. She helped promote every person I know from the underground world. And I was her favorite. And I got her kidnapped. No more singing and speaking in front of people for me. Not until I get her back.'

"It's a small world breeding whispers, conjecture, secrets." Gordon whispered.

"You may have even heard rumors of who murdered him." Sweets stared at Grinder.

"But you're not gonna tell us, are you? Cause we're outsiders."

Grinder stayed quiet.

"I'll talk to Cold Blood, but not you." He said to Gordon.

He turned to Sweets.

"Could we go somewhere more private?"

*I have so much to say, but no one listens.*

In another room, more private, Sweets and Grinder sat.

"You know, I haven't told anyone about me being Cold Blood. I still have this job I really need to keep."

Grinder looked up at Sweets.

"Who had him before the Norwegians? Who crucified your childhood friend?" Sweets started.

"We would have got him back, you know?" Grinder looked up at Sweets.

"Got him back from who?"

"Zorch."

Sweets nodded.

"That lame 'death core' outfit."

"They consider themselves death core, I consider them crap core." Grinder nodded.

"Don't worry, I do to." Sweets agreed.

"What they did to Justin, though, was totally awesome. It was brilliant."

"And if you had stolen Justin back, what would you do?" Sweets asked.

Grinder looked down to the photo he had taken with him in his hands.

"We would have hung him up behind us, man. It would have been epic. Legendary."

It sounded like tears were clouding over his voice. Sweets nodded.

"Miranda would probably know more." Sweets looked up.

"She's been kidnapped."

He whispered.

Grinder looked up.

"Really?" Sweets nodded.

"I'm gonna get her back though." Grinder smiled at him.

"You do that."

*I went crazy when I was with you. I can't let that happen again.*

Black metal screamed through every side of the room.

The crowd cheered and excitement poured over everyone.

"I'm disturbed that despite my extensive training as an anthropologist all of these bands sound alike and appear to share identical belief systems and mores." Brennan told Booth on the phone.

Booth took a sip of his drink.

"Yeah, right, except for the trained anthropologist part that's how my dad felt about Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys."

Brennan furrowed her eyebrows. "I have no idea what you're saying."

"Listen, Bones. I don't want you there alone, okay? Just get a good look at this guy and you get out. You understand?"

Sweets walked up to Brennan with his metal gear on. "You ready?"

Brennan looked to the phone and then to Sweets again with wide eyes.

"Sweets?" She asked.

"Sweets is there?" Booth asked.

"Well I think it's him." Brennan scoped him up and down.

"Yeah, I had to meld to get information."

His voice slightly flattened in a half lie, but Brennan couldn't detect it above all the noise.

"Zorch's lead singer is Murderbreath."

The lead singer drank some alcohol and breathed fire using his lighter.

"Look at that." He pointed.

"Who does he think he is, the guy with the tongue from Kiss?" Sweets asked.

"You know what, just tell Sweets to leave Gene alone." Booth said into the phone.

"Just get a photo and get out of there." Booth continued.

"Zorch and Spew are sworn enemies." Sweets put all the info he had from Miranda and all he got from Grinder together.

"It started out with the fans throwing feces at each other, then some attacks."

"Culminating in medieval torture?" Brennan asked.

The lead singer brought up a bloody knife.

"DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" The crowd chanted.

"He's got a knife." Brennan stated.

"Who's got a knife?" Booth asked.

The lead singer cut through his throat.

"Nah, don't worry, it's totally fake."

He held his hand to his throat and fell to the ground, blood spilling from his fingers.

"That's not fake." Brennan said slowly, going to the stage.

"Whoa, whoa, what's happening?" Booth asked into the phone.

"Murderbreath slit his own throat. Excuse me." Brennan pushed through the crowd and got to Murderbreath.

"Is he still alive?" Booth asked.

"We need a compress!" Brennan ignored the question. She quickly went up and tore Sweet's shirt off.

"You could have asked." Then he realized that his back was bare. A shiver went through his body, and Brennan commanded, "Hold this against the wound."

Sweets knelt and did so.

"Booth, can you call it in?" Brennan asked.

"Listen, I'm not hanging up, Bones-."

Brennan closed the phone.

"Help is coming." Sweets told the singer.

"Stand back, please! F.B.I.! Stand back!" Brennan shouted.

She turned and saw scars crisscrossing on Sweets' shoulder blades.

Sweets stared at the hurt guy, knowing Brennan saw his scars.

*Love's not supposed to do that! You made me go mad.*

The interrogation room was dismal with the blood soaked man in front of Sweets and Brennan.

"Why'd you arrest me? I'm the one with the cut throat."

His gravelly voice made Sweets wince and say, "Ooh, maybe you shouldn't talk too much."

"Uh, no. His larynx wasn't affected." Brennan stated.

"This is my actual voice." Murderbreath said.

"Sounds exactly like when you sing." Brennan said.

"Sounds like gravel in a hubcap." Booth watched on his laptop.

"So, that was a very good night for you." Sweets said.

"Word gets around that you slit your own throat for real."

"Yeah, it's good for publicity, so to speak. Tonight, I'm a legend. You wouldn't need to. If Cold Blood slit his own throat, not only would you basically steal fans of other people, you would get sympathy- black roses, money, gifts. That's why people envy you. And all you have to do is sing songs other people made, tell everyone everything that has happened to you, and tell all about how therapy never worked."

Sweets ground his teeth.

"Do you have any idea who switched your prop knife?" Brennan asked, looking over to Sweets.

Definitely something they were going to talk about.

"One of the guys in the band, a fan, someone from another band, maybe I did it myself. Who cares?"

"I bet it was Spew." Booth said, fixing his tie.

"How about Spew?" Brennan asked.

"Evidence indicates that you killed and crucified their bassist."

"This just gets better and better. I'm getting credit for that?"

Sweets sighed. "Not him…" He whispered.

"No. See, the thing is, that same credit could send you to prison." Sweets chided.

"Okay, listen, Bones. Just tell him you don't care if he did it or not, you'll just throw his ass in jail" Booth said into her ear bud.

Brennan scoffed.

"Look, it's all right to lie during an interrogation, Bones. It's a technique."

"The evidence is inconclusive regarding your guilt. But I will damn well make sure it's conclusive!" Sweets jumped when she slammed her fists onto the table and yelled.

"Whoa! What?" Sweets looked between Murderbreath and Brennan.

"Atta girl. Give it to him." Booth said.

"I will perjure myself if I have to because you make me sick, punk!"

Sweets stared at Brennan.

'Is it just him or would she think the same of me?' He wondered.

"Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked.

"I'll put your ass on death row and laugh at your execution. I will testify that your knife was used to make these gouges." She held up the picture of the victim's gluteus bone to Murderbreath.

She turned his chair and pushed him to the other side of the room.

"I will also prove that whatever implements we find- any props, knives, cleavers, all of your stage ware- I will show that it was used to mutilate his remains." She pushed the scared black metal singer back to the table.

"Which they probably were." Brennan finished.

"Good to know." Sweets said.

"There's no rock concerts in prison." Booth said.

"There are no rock concerts in prison."

"Rock concerts!?" Both Sweets and Murderbreath said loudly.

Brennan slightly jumped, and Sweets shook his head.

"I want immunity from desecration of human remains." He said quickly.

Brennan slammed the table with her hands.

"No promises, dirtbag."

"Just tell him that we will talk to the prosecutor on your behalf." Booth said.

"But we'll see what we can do." She sat on the chair with the back of it facing forward and sitting on it backwards.

"Maybe six months ago, there's a rumor, Mayhem's dead and buried under Bridge 6, westbound lanes, State Road 66."

"666, the sign of the devil." Brennan said.

"Who told you?" Sweets asked.

"I don't know. Nobody. Everybody. It was in the air, man. You should have heard it."

"I like to distance myself from rumors. They go through Miranda-"

"And she doesn't tell you so you don't have to listen." Murderbreath finished.

Sweets nodded.

"Dug up the bones. Somebody heard about this old Viking torture thing, it sounded like a great gag. And it was until Skalle stole it."

Brennan corrected him with an accent.

"It doesn't matter." Sweets said quietly to her.

"Just trying-."

"I dug him up, stole the cross, fastened the bones to it." Murderbreath cut her off.

"But you didn't kill him." Sweets finished.

He shook his head.

"I believe him." Booth stretched back.

*Wake up. It's just a nightmare.*

Brennan, Booth, and Gordon were having a meal at the Royal Diner.

"Mmm. Now, my last official task as an F.B.I. shrink is to declare you fit for duty." Gordon told Booth.

He took out the badge and gun that he had hid under the table.

"Gordon Gordon, the gun under the table!" Booth said in a warning tone.

Gordon hid them back under the table, giving them to Booth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sh, I'm sorry."

"So Booth is back?" Brennan asked.

"He's back." Gordon confirmed.

"So, what's next for you, Doc? I mean, when you stop shrinking heads." Booth asked.

"I've been accepted by the Institute of Culinary Arts."

"You're gonna be a chef?" Booth asked with wide eyes.

"That's correct, yes." Gordon nodded. "I'm gonna put good things into people instead of taking out things that are bad, which I know sounds rather Freudian, but Sigmund's been largely discredited so to hell with him."'

"I don't see why you can't do both." Booth said.

"We, we still don't know who murdered Justin Dancy." Brennan said.

"Baby steps. You will prevail." Gordan went back to his food.

"This subculture, it takes every notion of community and turns it upside down." Brennan stated.

"Well, no matter what they say, the fact remains that they are artists. They create. No true nihilist ever creates. These dark, tortured people may rail against the night but they make music."

Gordon looked to Brennan.

"On an oscilloscope what we call music is demonstrably distinct from what we call noise."

"You're Dr. Sweets like it as an adolescent. He's turned out rather well…. for the most part."

Booth looked up at that. "For the most part?" He asked.

"Well, I read his book. And as is the case with most writing, it reveals more about the writer than about the subject matter, which, in this case, is you."

"Can you provide an example?" Dr. Brennan leaned forward.

"For one thing, he finds it extremely frustrating your lack of willingness to discuss your childhood experiences with him."

"What does that tell you?" Brennan asked.

"Don't- do not ask him that, he's gonna think we _both_ have traumatic childhoods." Booth said.

"We did!"

Booth sighed.

"Your father was a violent drunk, and mine abandoned me."

"Great! Thank you! Just tell everybody here at the diner, why don't you, Bones? Go ahead!"

"Sweets has scars on his back. Old ones." Brennan looked between the 2 males.

"Really?" Gordon asked.

"What kind of scars?" Booth asked soberly.

"Well, like he'd been whipped."

"Whipped?" Booth repeated.

"I saw them."

"That explains his near obsession with your childhood trauma, doesn't it?" Gordon asked.

*Nothing scares me anymore.*

Angela was worried about Sweets. With all the stuff that was happening, it wasn't hard to notice his dark thoughts that were going through his mind.

'After the case.' She promised herself.

"Okay, I did an Internet search of Spew's concerts. Now this stuff is all uploaded from cell phones, so the quality is crap."

She told Cam and Hodgins.

"Alright, check this out. This girl runs up, here's the gun. She fires, then Mayhem literally spews the blood all over the crowd. And there's the blood."

The blood shot up and was more of a watery substance than actual blood.

"Ok. Obviously fake." Cam commented.

"Yeah, it's a set piece. I've seen this same setup maybe 60 times in 2 years."

"Is it the same girl every time?" Cam asked.

"I'm pretty sure it is." Angela said, zooming in on the girl's pixilated face.

"The image quality stinks." Hodgins said.

"Except, I combined all the different cell phone versions…"

"Nice! We can get an I.D. from that. Can you arrange these shows in chronological order?"

Sweets walked in at that point and looked to the computer.

"Wait…. Hey, that's Lexie. Why are you looking at a picture of Lexie?" He asked.

"How do you know that?" Hodgins asked, them all looking at him.

He shrugged. "I don't."

He lied, then turned and started to go.

"Sorry I came." He said, slightly moody.

"Ooh, I'm worried about him." Angela said.

"I promised myself I would find out after the case." Cam said.

"Me too." Angela said, looking up at Cam.

"Whoa, me three. Weird…"

"Uh, they all contain embedded cell phone codes, so, yes, I can arrange them in chronological order."

"Did he ever bleed from his ass? Because that's where we found the bullet fragments." Hodgins said absentmindedly, looking to where Sweets was walking out.

When he left, Hodgins looked back to the screen.

"Clark determined that the gunshot wound to the victim's ilium occurred 10 months prior to his death." Cam said.

"There." Hodgins pointed.

"He fell down that time behind the audience."

"Have you got another angle on this?" Cam asked.

Angela changed the angle.

"Oh, there! The bullet splinters his instrument."

Angela went closer and made the picture a little bit clearer.

"Right into his ass. That's our money shot right there." Hodgins stared at the screen.

"Not so tough when the blood is real, are you, metal boy?" Cam asked.

*Stuff was happening.*

"So this is you, isn't it, Lexie?" Booth pushed a photo towards the girl.

She pushed it back.

"My manager said not to talk to you until he gets here."

"Death metal chicks have managers?" Booth asked.

Sweets really wanted to be in there.

Lexie was a friend of his and Miranda's.

She scoffed and pushed a CD towards Booth.

"Her Power Punk CD." Lance said, smiling.

"Ah, look at that. Metal to what?" He flipped it over. "Power Punk?"

"It's a much larger market. But I still retain my artistic integrity."

Lance couldn't help but feel terrible for not telling Lexie about Miranda yet.

'After the interrogation.' He promised himself.

"Right. Do you still shoot bass players in your new gig?"

"Is that what this is about? It's not my fault someone replace the blank with a real bullet."

But it hadn't been a blank. Lexie had told him all about Justin's idea, because he wanted to prove he was more hardcore.

"No, I think you knew that the bullet was there."

Lance wanted to scream. This was one of his best friends Booth was talking to.

"Otherwise, you would have shot the guy in the neck like every other time."

"I'm waiting until my manager gets here."

Lance sighed. He really needed to help Lexie.

"Okay, we can do that. In the meantime, I'll show you this picture here. You see, your boyfriend-."

Lance winced.

"-Is flinching before you even pulled the trigger. I say the 2 of you were working on this together."

"It was Justin's idea, okay? He was always trying to prove to the other guys he was more hard core than them."

"Was he?" Booth asked.

Lance laughed.

"Well, uh, he wanted me to shoot him, so yeah, I gave him his props."

"Hmm."

Booth walked around back to his side of the table.

"So what? Now that I'm making some money he's coming after me for shooting him in the ass 2 years ago?" Lexie asked.

Booth leaned forward and Lance gave a relieved sigh.

"Justin's dead. He was murdered."

Lexie's blue eyes widened and she leaned forward to, tears clouding her voice.

'No, Lexie, you broke up with him!' Lance felt like those guys that screamed, 'LOOK AT ME! I'M RIGHT HERE AND I WANT TO BE WITH YOU!' in their heads.

"What? God, those stupid bastards. Those stupid- you have to get them."

"Get who?" Booth asked.

"I don't know, probably a fan found out. You know, maybe someone in Spew. This is totally my fault!"

And that was it.

Lance threw the door open and walked in.

"Sweets, you can't just-!"

"Lance!" Lexie threw her arms around him and cried.

He pulled her down to sit with him on the floor.

"I have some bad news to tell you later, Lexie." Lance said.

"Worse than this?" She asked.

He nodded. She shuddered in his arms and he ran his hand through her hair, looking up at Booth.

"You can finish this later, Agent Booth." Lance said.

*You make me really happy.*

"Is she okay to talk now?" Booth asked, and Lance nodded, helping her into the chair.

"Alright. Found out what? Why do you think it's your fault?"

She looked to Sweets and took a deep breath. "A year ago, he gave me a call saying he wanted to get back together and join my band."

Lance sighed and rolled his eyes.

Booth glanced at him for a second, and then looked back to Lexie.

"Some hard-core metal fanatic found out and killed him."

Lance gave her another hug and kissed the top of her head. Booth looked both of them over.

*He just smiled, you know. That 'Logan Smile' that means 'You don't' know me at all. You never will.'*

"The striae and kerf width on each side of the bisected ribs match the saw that the F.B.I. found at the Zorch concert."

Brennan looked at Clark. "Fingerprints are all Murderbreath's." Brennan said, shaking her head.

"He already confessed to digging up the corpse and mutilating it. So you're looking at the greenstick fractures?" Clark asked.

"Yes." Brennan confirmed.

"Hmm…" Clark watched her.

Brennan started taking off her gloves.

"Would you mind getting on all fours?" She asked suddenly.

Clark looked up at her weirdly.

"Uh, is that strictly necessary?"

"Yes, please." She said, taking a cord off the monitor.

He went on all 4s.

"So, the fractures are adjacent to the articulation with the spine." She said, bringing the cord under Clark's neck and twisting the top.

She put both her legs on either side of him.

"Now with evidence of inward bowing-." He gasped as Brennan tightened the cord.

"Incomplete fractures, evidence of inward bowing- If I place my knee in your back-." She did so, pushing him down.

Clark gasped.

"Hello. Tunnel vision, Dr. Brennan!"

"Oh, sorry, sorry." She said, taking the cord off and moving to let him get up.

"That scenario explains all the bone damage and fractures." She explained.

Clark exhaled heavily. "So stabbed and then garroted?" He asked.

"What if the wounds to the C5 aren't from a stab, but instead the result of the victim being garroted?"

Clark thought for a second.

"The puncture occurred on the back of the neck. But what would do that?"He asked.

"Barbed wire." Brennan answered.

"Yeah." He said, clearing his throat.

*TOMAHAWK CHOP! (Laughs, then stops.) It was going so well…* **(More PewDiePie)**

"Lexie's right. Following her into the mainstream would be seen as the ultimate betrayal." Sweets explained.

"Like leaving a cult. Hey, how do you know Lexie?"

"He knows Lexie?" Brennan asked.

"Look, I'll tell you later, let's just get back to the case."

"We think that the victim was garroted, most likely with barbed wire." Brennan said.

"Now the murderer will lay claim. He'll keep a souvenir." Sweets looked over to Gordon for a second, then back at Booth and Brennan.

"Yes, in the same way that a serial killer will." Gordon agreed.

"Right, but it isn't for his own satisfaction. It's a way of boasting of what he's done to the community."

"Yeah, it's a totem, a signifier of some kind that can only be discerned by the cognoscenti." Gordon added.

"Okay, how are we gonna figure this out? None of us speak Italian." Booth smiled.

"He does that, doesn't he?" Gordon asked, pointing to Booth.

"He wants to be underestimated."

He pointed to Sweets now.

"But you're one of the cognoscenti, Dr. Sweets."

Sweets' eyes widened and he leaned back. He quickly gained his composure.

"Oh, no. I've outgrown that." His voice flattened in a lie.

"Mostly. Maybe sometimes I'll listen to a few bootleg tapes when I've had a bad day or….. be Cold Blooded…." He whispered the last part and it was Gordon's turn to be surprised.

"Really? You're C.B.?"

Lance nodded.

"But please be quiet about it!"

"What's C.B.?" Booth asked.

Sweets shook his head.

"That's good, cause this music sucks, and the people who listen to it are defective." Booth said.

Sweets turned with fire in his eyes.

"What, so I'm defective to?!" He stopped and swallowed, calming down.

"Thank you so much." He said calmer, looking back at Gordon.

"I have no doubt that your parents said the same thing to you when you listened to my music, Agent Booth."

Sweets gave a small half smile.

"Mm-hmm. And according to one of your squint reports a bullet was gouged out of the victim's ass?" Booth turned to Brennan.

"You read Clark's report?" She looked up at him.

"Well, only because I was on desk duty." He cleared his throat.

"Now, that bullet could be a good totem pole."

Sweets cocked an eyebrow. 'What?' He wondered.

"A totem, Booth. A totem pole is much larger." Brennan chided.

"Yes, but nonetheless, it would be a good totem- pole or otherwise." Gordon said.

"So someone murdered the kid for leaving the fold." Booth said.

"Then uses a knife to gouge out the bullet." Brennan continued.

"Buries the body under the bridge." Booth said excitedly.

"Knowing that the cognoscenti will see the bullet and assume he is the murderer." Gordon said.

"But Murderbreath finds the body, puts it on display…" Sweets said.

"Mm-hmm. Stealing credit." Booth nods.

"So we're looking for a bullet then." Brennan concluded.

"Mm-hmm." Booth agreed.

"And lookit here. Our good, happy friend, Pinworm wears a smashed bullet round his neck inside of a cross." He gave the picture to Brennan.

*Note to self; she doesn't care anymore.*

Sweets sat down with Lexie on a park bench. She looked over at him and asked, "What's the terrible news?"

Lance sighed. "Miranda-"

"Oh my god, she wasn't murdered was she?!" Lexie cried.

Lance quickly shook his head.

"No, no, she was… k-kidnapped…. By my bio dad…. And he says if I ask them for help or tell them before this case is done than he'll hurt her."

Lexie swallowed and her bright blue eyes looked into Lance's chocolate ones.

"You know, you being Bisexual, you have 2 soul mates. A guy and a girl. I already know your guy soul mate is Zack. Maybe if you realize that Miranda loves you, you can have her, get Zack out, and we can be a family. A big one, maybe even including your coworkers."

Lexie rested her head on his chest.

It was her turn to comfort Lance.

They stayed on the bench for around 1 hour before he was called in to watch the interrogation.

"You're coming with me and you're staying in the Jeffersonian. I don't need you taken to."

*I'm so scared. I don't know if I can bear it anymore. I don't know what to do.*

He took Lexie to Angela's Office.

"Angela?" He called.

She looked up.

"Sweets? Who's that?"

"This is Lexie." He sat his black haired friend on Angie's couch.

"I was wondering if you could watch her for a little bit, she's a friend of mine."

"You're friends with Lexie?" Angie sighed.

'After the case.'

"Ok, yeah, she can stay for a little while." Sweets smiled, thanked her, and left.

When he was gone, Angie turned around.

"So… how do you know Sweets?"

*Right… you hate her.*

"Is it too much to hope that the fellow's scratching out his confession in block letters?" Gordon asked, watching the metal singer sitting on the other side of the 2 way mirror.

"Right here." Booth zoomed into the video to the guy's neck.

"Right inside the cross- .22 caliber."

"Completely consistent with the mark left in the victim's ilium." Brennan stated.

"Okay, Bones and I are gonna go in there. What we do not need to hear is a lot of psychological mumbo jumbo stuff in our ears." The 2 left the room.

"So, Cold Blood, huh?" Gordon asked.

Sweets looked to the window.

"Okay, so are you bored with psychiatry? Is that it? People don't have the capacity to surprise you anymore?" Sweets asked.

"You're dodging the question~." Gordon basically sang.

"So are you."

There was silence for a few seconds.

"People surprise me. You surprise me."

Lance looked at him with doe eyes.

"Me?"

"Few people looking at you would know what you'd been through."

Lance's smile dropped.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked soberly.

"Well, you were adopted. And the people who adopted you were an older couple, probably too old for standard adoption of an infant. Meaning you weren't an infant. You were what? 4?"

Lance stared at him for a few moments.

"8."

"8, yeah. Special needs. A child who had been through some sort of hell, a damaged child." He took a deep breath.

"But these were loving, wonderful people."

Lance nodded. "Yes."

"They saved you. But now they're gone. You're an orphan."

Lance licked his lips.

"My parents died within weeks of each other."

"Recently, I'd say. The wound is still fresh."

Lance took a deep breath. "Just before I came to work here."

"Yeah. So now you're mostly alone in the world."

Suddenly, Lance shook his head.

"I disagree. I have 3 good, caring friends, family, even. Zack, Lexie, and Mir-." He stopped.

"I'd also say the Jeffersonian team but really, I'm not good at lying, am I?"

"But they still saved you. That's the gift your parents left you. You believe people can be saved by people with good hearts. That, and the gift of a truly good heart. That gives you a deeper calling I do not share."

Lance inhaled sharply, and then exhaled. He still watched Gordon.

"I don't remember where I got this bullet." The singer said.

"Well, you dug it out of Justin Dancy's pelvic bone with a knife." Brennan stated.

The guy looked up.

"Hard core, man! I-I dug it out of his ass and then hung it around my neck. Legendary. Well, if people think that means I killed him, there's nothing I can do about it."

He pushed the paper he had been drawing on toward Brennan.

It was of her over skulls, with a skull bracelet, a skull crown, and a staff.

"You know, you're one of us. Up to your elbows in corpses and murder. It's hot."

Brennan looked him over.

"Thank you."

"So what was, uh, Lexie like your Yoko Ono?" Booth asked.

"What is that- a Bible reference?" The guy asked.

Booth gave the guy a weird look.

"So let's just say Justin decided to go with Lexie, what would that do to your band?"

"No way any member of Spew does that. Never… happen."

"Why not?" Brennan asked.

"Because we are the real thing. The genuine item. Our music isn't made to be enjoyed, it's made to be feared. It comes straight from hell."

Booth nodded, smiling. "Right. But you don't know anything about hell."

"And you do?" The guy asked.

"Well, see, I was a soldier and a cop-"

"I've identified hundreds of victims of genocide. I accept hell as a metaphor for what I've seen."

"You haven't seen hell until you've been inside my head, dreamed my nightmares."

Lance shivered. 'My nightmares are hell….in their own way.'

"You're delusional, cozy, reality doesn't even come close."

"He's uh- he's enjoying this attention." Sweets stuttered out.

"It's what he feels on stage, isn't it? The- the power." Gordon agreed.

"But his sense of power is totally dependent on an audience." Sweets said.

Gordon nodded, and telling Booth, "Um, ruminate on Milton, Agent Booth. Think _Paradise Lost_.

Booth leaned forward, than whispered in Brennan's ear, "What does that mean?"

"Oh, uh, Satan's greatest sin was pride, vanity."

"Ok great, you're free to go!" Booth said.

"Wh-what?" The guy asked, eyes wide.

"My associate here tells me that Murderbreath confessed to the murder and crucifixion of Justin Dancy, so you're free to go."

"Whoa, what, Murderbreath?"

"Yeah, you're free to go. Come on." Booth said.

"No, Murderbreath did not kill anybody, he weighs, what, 40 pounds? Have you not seen Mayhem? Murderbreath didn't strangle somebody with barbed wire."

Lance gave a cheer and turned to Gordon.

"I have something I need help with! After the case, could you please help? It has to do with Miranda!"

"It takes heft to choke a big guy to death."

"Barbed wire?" Brennan asked.

"Wow. Well, you know, nobody said anything about barbed wire.

"Gotcha!" Lance yelled.

*Let's take this outside, shall we?*

"My foster parents locked me in the trunk of a car for 2 days when I broke a dish. I was a very clumsy child. They warned me it would happen, but the water was so hot and the soap was so slippery. I still don't think it was fair, even though they gave me fair warning. The water was so hot…" Brennan's voice cracked.

They were in Sweets' office. Gordon had told Booth and Brennan to go get Sweets, maybe even talk to him. Lance had said that he would tell them his problem tomorrow.

'Let them have a celebration.' He thought.

Lexie had gone to Lance's apartment. She was living with him now.

"No, it wasn't fair at all. It wasn't your fault."

"Bones, what are you doing?" Booth whispered to Brennan.

"You said that 'scars on the back' was a metaphor. Isn't that why we're here, to metaphorically compare scars?"

"I came to bring Sweets back to my place for dinner. That's all."

"Scars on the back?" Sweets asked, but he already knew.

"I saw them, Sweets."

"So what, you decided to just share something from your past?" Sweets got up.

"That is so unlike you."

"I still hate psychology. Okay, your turn. Go." Brennan told Booth.

"I came here to bring Sweets back to my place for dinner. That's all."

After Brennan gave him a look, he said, "Okay. If it wasn't for my grandfather, I probably would've killed myself when I was a kid. Okay, that's all I'm gonna say on the subject matter, understand?" He stared at Sweets.

Sweets licked his lips, then said, "My mother left me with my dad when I was a few months old. For 8 years I thought that there was something wrong with me, that that was why my parents hated me. And-and then this woman, just walked in and she found me and she said that I was good and I didn't have to be afraid and that she was there to save me."

Sweets stayed silent for a few moments.

"There were sirens and I was suddenly at the hospital. I haven't seen her since then." His voice cracked at the end, but he regained composure.

There was silence between them, and then Booth asked, "You coming?"

"Booth means that we'd like it if you joined us." Brennan stated.

"Thank you." Sweets smiled.

"Great! Here we go, let's go."

"Gordon-Gordon is making cassoulet." Brennan said excitedly.

"It's stew, it's bean stew." Booth said.

"Cassoulet is better than regular stew."

"Just because it's French doesn't mean it's better."

"It sounds better than stew." Sweets said.

"See?" Brennan asked.

**Longest chapter I've ever written. Next chapter will be my story, truly.**


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